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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29289972">To each other, with lust</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut'>ChocoNut</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Modern JB love [76]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Porn with Feelings, furious fucking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:55:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,326</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29289972</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>
    <br/>
    <em>“Every night I dream of you, of making blazing hot love to you, of fucking you senseless, so hard that you’ll forget who you are. If only I could have confessed all this in person, wench…”</em>
    <br/>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Brienne gapes at the words staring at her as if her glare would intimidate them into transforming into something more sensible, something that’s Jaime and her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They’re there, though. It’s not her imagination.</em>
</p><p>OR</p><p>The one where a couple of text messages bring them together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Modern JB love [76]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557871</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To each other, with lust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>“I want to kiss you so deeply, so fucking passionately that you’ll forget every other pair of lips yours have ever touched.” </b>
</p><p>Brienne gapes at the words staring at her as if her glare would intimidate them into transforming into something more sensible, something that’s Jaime and her.</p><p>They’re there, though. It’s not her imagination.</p><p>She clicks the display shut as if that would make the message go away, closes her eyes and leans back against her pillow, as if that would erase this from her memory. But no more than a handful of seconds later, she pulls up her Whatsapp again to cross check the sender. </p><p>
  <em> Jaime Lannister. </em>
</p><p>But it can’t be. That was a very regular evening they’d spent together—as friends, with conversations as normal as normal can be. Never has he ever looked at her as more than a buddy. Nor is she his type—pretty, blonde, shorter than him—isn’t that what he’s eventually going to settle for? Ugly wenches like her were only good enough to be friends, those you’d go for a casual drink with, pour out your woes and heartbreaks, trust them enough for them to be a shoulder to cry on.</p><p>A man like Jaime wouldn’t kiss them, let alone—</p><p>The next line’s even more baffling. <b>“Every night I dream of you, of making blazing hot love to you, of fucking you senseless, so hard that you’ll forget who you are. If only I could have confessed all this in person, wench…”</b></p><p>He leaves it there, and with it, leaves her grappling with an emptiness that’s even more profound now. Given his thing for joking with her, is this some kind of a horrible trick he’s playing on her? Why, though, out of the blue tonight? Her chest hurts as she evaluates this; a pricking sensation takes over her eyes. </p><p>The phone beeps again. <b>“Sorry,” </b> it now says, and she can hear the sheepishness when she reads it in his voice. With Jaime, it’s always act now and regret later. <b>“Tyrion had my phone. He was fooling around, and before I could stop him, the deed was done.”</b></p><p>That explains. What was she expecting? Passionate love notes from him? A long letter stating how bewitched he is with her, that he cannot stop thinking about her? Her eyes stinging harder, she switches off her phone and begins stripping out of her clothes. Yes, a shower, a nice shot of brandy and a good night’s sleep will make this better, and tomorrow, none of them, particularly Jaime, would bother something like this ever happened.</p><p>She stands before the mirror in critical examination of her far from perfect body. What man would want to kiss these lips? Her hand trails down. What man would want to be here when he could have any woman he desired? Unbidden her fingers work their way around her. And she lets them take over, and treading, as usual, into the fantasy world she’s been seeking comfort in, she presses her thumb on her clit, pretends it is his.</p><p>Flushing the unpleasantness of the last half an hour from her mind, she curls her fingers, strokes herself, trading her fingers in her mind for his thick hot cock. Her other hand crawling to her nipples; his lips, she pictures around them, and moaning, she flops onto the bed, his imaginary hand fucking her hard. </p><p>“Yes,” she whimpers, panting, staring at the ceiling, letting her climax take its course and drag her with it. “<em>Yes—</em>” </p><p>It is this untimely moment that the doorbell chooses to interrupt her. Even with this, she’s unlucky tonight.</p><p>His flustered appearance tells her this unannounced visit has everything to do with his text fiasco. “Why is your phone switched off?” he directly begins, squeezing in before she can react.</p><p>“I wanted to have an early night in.”</p><p>Jaime slams the door shut, rounds up on her. “Since when have you switched off your phone at night, wench?” His probing eyes analyze the bathrobe she’s pulled on in a hurry, her flaming cheeks, her madly heaving chest. “You look far from sleepy.”</p><p>Refusing to be intimidated, she crosses her arms to her chest. “It’s none of your business.”</p><p>“Those messages were from my phone,” he hisses, his eyes reflecting her distress, “so that makes it my bloody business.”</p><p>“Jaime, I don’t want to—”</p><p>“But I want to.” He mellows down in his gaze, takes a tentative step towards her. “I came to explain—”</p><p>“I’m not in the mood for this conversation.” Something inside her snaps, something itches to get out, and she craves no more than freedom from this turmoil. “You think it’s a joke—that you can just come by and explain and it’ll all be fine after that? But what would you know?” She looks down, blinks away, then confronts that handsome face again. “As if you’d ever think of me like that—I should’ve deleted that message right away—” </p><p>“Wench—”</p><p>“I’ll tell you what this is,” she goes on, her emotions breaking out of the chains she’s had them restrained with. “A big <em> fuck you </em> to my feelings, that’s what this is—”</p><p>A kiss is the last thing she expected in answer to her outburst, but when it comes, with it, comes to life, the promise his explicit message had carried. The kiss is not soft or romantic like a first one usually is, but hot and blatant, needy and forthright. When his mouth grows insistent, his words dance around her head, sensations her vibrator has only made possible until now, creeping up into her. His lips probe, demand, seek what they’re here to conquer while his hands grip her waist, caress her ass, his low moans skittering down her spine, penetrating her pussy like blazing hard bullets. His thick bulge presses into her, and she grinds against him, her lips parting to invite more of his sighs. He grabs her hair, grips the back of her neck. His tongue woos hers to a slow dance, then draws her into a whirlpool.</p><p>He lunges into the kiss; she parries his advances with her tongue. She tugs at his shirt, struggles against his buttons.. She wants to be sucked away into it with him, aches to be torn apart. That message had one thing right—this is no kiss she’s had before; this is no touch she’s going to forget anytime soon.</p><p>“That didn't feel like a <em>fuck you</em><em>,</em> did it?” he answers her, voice heavy and hoarse when he lets her breathe again. “Those sure were Tyrion’s words but—”         </p><p>The rest of it she doesn’t get to hear when he begins kissing her again, when there ensues a battle against their clothes, a heated rush to get to the bedroom. Yes, she wants him to fuck her, not make love to her. His teeth scrape her skin—she hisses, she needs more, she needs this man. As they step inside, her robe hits the floor with a satisfying swish, and when his throbbing head brushes her thighs, she can feel it all—the aftermath of her climax, the onset of another intoxicating bout of arousal. </p><p>When they breathe between kisses, she tries to speak, but he shushes her, pushes her on the bed and climbs in with her. Yes, the words may have been Tyrion’s, but Jaime is the bearer of the lust behind them. With every kiss, he wears it with passion, with every throb his ample girth lays on hers, he makes it unabashedly obvious, with the velvety thick head prodding her belly, he fuels it further. </p><p>“I don’t think Tyrion meant it to be a joke,” he purrs into her ear, those eyes burning deep into hers. “He’s smarter than us both, smart enough to read what hasn’t been written yet.”</p><p>“Let’s begin writing it then,” she demands. “Fuck me senseless, Jaime. So hard that I forget—”</p><p>When his hot mouth meets the base of her throat, when he sails down to her breasts, anchoring her to his desire with fiery kisses, she forgets what she means to say. Taut and pebbly, her nipples are at his mercy. Hot and thick, his cock is hers to caress, to stroke, to tease. This isn’t what she pictured her first time with him to be. But there’s no other way she’d have wanted this night to unfold either. </p><p>He’s ravenous; she’s insatiable. Together, they’re a bomb, ticking away, waiting to explode.</p><p>He nibbles on her nipple, she massages his shaft, tweaks his glistening tip. Those veins throbbing beneath his skin—she needs them to rub against her walls, needs to feel the blood pounding inside him. His fingers inside her, rubbing and dragging along her plump lips, he gets her blood pounding away like water furiously gushing down a ravine. His thumb pressing her clit, rolling over the hard knotted bead of flesh—he’s truly exquisite, excruciatingly agonizing.  </p><p>He bucks; she arches into him. The room comes to life with their heated pants and moans into stolen kisses. He’s naked in his grunts; she’s unrestrained in her soft gasps that take the form of his name. Wants and needs, they merge into one. Love and lust—there’s only a thin line between these two now. </p><p>She stirs; his hips roll into hers, his cock jerking into her. </p><p>“Hang on—” he hurriedly slides off her “—protection—”</p><p>Brienne squats, grabs a bedside kit from her drawer. “Here—” Her patience drained down to the last drop of it, she rummages into the box before he can get there, she clumsily rips through the foil. “Be quick about it.”</p><p>She hisses when he takes several seconds more than she can stand it, aids him with it when she can’t keep her hands off him anymore. </p><p>Falling back to the bed, she draws him into a kiss, pulls him back onto her. What is to come—she knows it’s going to be nothing like what she’s known before, something she won’t forget anytime soon.  </p><p>But he breaches her slick folds, she forgets how to use her mind. </p><p>A strong hand presses against her neck, slides up roughly to cup her cheek, his wandering thumb prying her lips open. Another hand tangles in her hair, tight against her head, and she sucks his probing thumb, tastes herself. When the next thrust comes, hard and unforgiving, his mouth is on hers, his tongue parting her lips as roving fingers claim her nipples. </p><p>Her nostrils flare, her heart slams into her ribs as her breasts lurch into him. His weight on hers, he locks her down; her pussy tightens, she holds him close.</p><p>He tears away from the kiss, looks deep into her eyes, then rams in again. Her heart forgets to beat for a moment—this sweet burn, this stretching almost to the point of pain, the fullness—this is exactly what she craves.</p><p>He thrusts deeper; her teeth sinking into his flesh, her nails raking down his back, she braces for this ride. He bites her neck, pinches her nipple hard, his touch resonating with what she’d taken to be a joke, his guttural breath composing a message he, himself, chooses to write this time.</p><p>Every time his balls slam into her, he spells out a word of this love letter to her body—the message his brother had tossed playfully at her, his body seems determined to bring to a fruitful end. Some verses, he pens with his kisses, others, he carves with skilled fingers on her breasts. His arm reaches up to grasp the headboard; He pushes back, pushes all the way in<em>— </em> <em> gods, he feels so deep! </em> He relaxes, plunges in, draws out, then goes deeper, harder. His laboured breath washes over her, with each thrust a strained exhale coating her with his lust.</p><p>She’s pulsing now; faster; tighter; gripping him, a hopeless need tugging at her muscles, edging them towards the end, nudging them to seek the heights of pleasure he’s dragging her to. </p><p><em>“Fuck,”</em> she curses, and he fucks her harder.</p><p>His erotic mesage is nearing its completion, and her body responds with hers, connecting to him, absorbing every word, coming alive when she can feel him in every corner of her. Her spasms are her sonnets to him, the shudders she embraces him with, her passionate sign off to her note.</p><p>When it happens, it happens in an instant. She squeezes down on him with a gasp, then a cry of his name, and when he keeps going, when his mouth clamps down on hers to seal his love poem with a kiss, she falls back on the messed-up sheets, the silent screaming, the tension, all of it washing over her in one massive after-math.</p><p><em>Jaime, </em>she breathes, means to say it out aloud, but his lips crash into hers again, crushing her as he plunges into the very end of this steamy correspondence. He convulses, his chest pushing into hers; a deep force, he bears down on her.</p><p>The ragged whispers of her name are his soul baring itself to her, his heart composing a sensual <em> P.S </em>to what began with a one-line text that wasn’t meant to be.</p><p>He drives in, holds there, deep within her; when he’s ready to jump off the precipice, when her name rushes past his lips, his pleasure is hers.</p><p>He collapses into her, and she holds him, a serene blanket of peace embracing them, at last. He kisses her throat, her chin, before planting one full on on her mouth. “Those feelings you were talking about—” warmth floods her all over again when his eyes give her more than a hint of what's coming “—it’s not just you, Brienne.”</p><p>She closes her eyes, and with a mental thanks to Tyrion, lets herself be wrapped in him. Together, their heartbeats compose another message, one that promises to be much more romantic than those that set this night in motion.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>One fic a day - you might think I'm crazy...<br/>Thank you for reading, though!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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